


Fine for a While

by voodoochild



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Flashback, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-12
Updated: 2010-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan enjoys receiving gifts, which is good, because Roger likes giving them. Unfortunately, you can't always have it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fine for a While

**Author's Note:**

> Commentporn for Petra that went and metastasized. Takes place post-"Babylon", but pre-"Indian Summer". Title from Leonard Cohen's "Tonight Will Be Fine".

_"The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart."_ \- Lois McMaster Bujold

*****

"Well, come on now, Red, open it," Roger urged, smirking down at her from under his hat.

Joan wondered what it would be. That was one thing she did love about him - he was never, ever predictable in his gift-giving. She'd dated married men before, and they all had a code; silver jewelry after a month, gold after three, diamonds after six months, and if it lasted that long, a weekend trip for a yearlong anniversary. Roger gave her a diamond bracelet for Christmas before she ever slept with him, took her to Miami for their three-and-a-half-month anniversary (well, it was a half business, half pleasure trip), and paid for her mother's suite at the Park-Hyatt whenever she came to visit (no matter how early or insistently Joan tried to pay).

The box was white, with a red satin bow that she wrinkled her nose at. He did love his color symbolism. Too large for jewelry, too small for another fur or a dress. She slid the bow off, and removed the lid.

Lingerie.

Really _good_ lingerie, from a Parisian boutique. A black fur-trimmed bustier and garter set, with tiny seed pearls on the garters and bra clasps. Custom work for sure, because Joan's never been able to order off the rack.

"Oh my god," she breathes. "It's gorgeous."

Sometimes she wonders when it's going to become an act - feigning happiness at extravagant gifts she really shouldn't be getting. Sometimes she knows it's going to be soon. Sometimes she doesn't care.

"Not nearly as gorgeous as you," he says, draping his coat over the chair and unknotting his tie.

He can't wait to let her put it on, of course, pushing her down onto the bed - the Waldorf has such excellent sheets - and pushing her skirt up. His hands are perfect, gripping her legs and holding her in place, too impatient to unfasten her garters or take her underwear all the way off. He pulls it free of her garter belt and gets it down to her knees, kissing his way up her inner thigh and inhaling the scent of her.

Even though it's hardly her first experience, the thought of his mouth _there_ still makes her blush. Roger loves making her blush, loves watching her squirm, and every time, he grins like a little kid at the pink flush to her cheeks. The first time he ever did this to her, she'd shrieked in shock, and he'd pulled back to lie atop her, stroking her with his fingers while he told her about the Japanese prostitute in Okinawa who'd spent two months teaching him to use his mouth on a woman. Her blush had spread, the tips of her ears burning, and she'd practically shuddered in response to his lurid words.

Curiosity, needless to say, had gotten the better of her.

She hadn't been disappointed in the least.

Today, she welcomes him, arching up into his hands and moaning as she feels his tongue against her. He doesn't waste any time in directing his attention toward her clit, using his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, anything he can do to make her scream and clutch the sheets. She'd never been particularly loud in bed, but she is with Roger. It's the anonymity, the knowledge they're rarely in the same place for longer than a day.

She reaches for the pillow as she feels her climax approaching, even though she knows he'll bat it away. He does. He wants to hear her, no matter how embarrassed she is, and though she knows he'd love to pull away and watch her, he'll do that later. Now, he whispers encouragement against her skin, two fingers deep inside her and sucking gently at her clit until she screams.

When she can breathe again, he kisses her. Her own taste on her tongue sends a little thrill through her - it's filthy, good girls shouldn't know what they taste like - and she pushes him off to the side. He lands good-naturedly, watching her unbutton his vest and shirt, shrugging out of them for her. He's hard in his trousers for her, straining against the expensive fabric, and she has the wicked urge to make him come all over his hundred-dollar suit.

Roger laughs, like he knows what she's thinking. "You're going to ruin my suit, Joanie."

"You know you'd love it," she says, stroking him through the linen. "If there were a way to do it and make sure you were totally clean afterwards, you'd do it in a second."

"I'm going to come now if you don't quit it," he growls, head thrown back, brown eyes wide.

"Then I should stop?"

"Joanieeee," he wheedles. She laughs, and pulls her hand away, long enough to unsnap his pants and pull them down just enough to free him. "Come on, please. Need you now."

She's so wet, there's barely any resistance when she straddles his lap and sinks down onto him. It never gets old or boring, the way he fills her and stretches her, the way he winds his hands through her hair and completely wrecks her hairstyle. Because she leaves traces on him, too, in the dig of her nails into his shoulder and the scent of her perfume that clings to his skin. They reach their peak a few moments apart, far too romantic for people like them, but satisfying nonetheless.

They think they're being careful, but Mona knows, and probably Margaret does too. Sometimes, Joan wonders when she should cut her losses - Roger is generous and sweet and charming, but he'll never marry her and he'll never be able to be seen with her without a steno pad around. She's not getting any younger; if she wants to be married, it won't do to have her affair with her boss as common office knowledge.

It's months before she actually gets the chance to model the lingerie for him, and though he doesn't know it, it's her goodbye present. She's met a doctor, and there are possibilities there. Greg doesn't buy her presents or take her on trips, but he's going to give her more.

Greg Harris is going to give her a life.

Roger Sterling cannot.


End file.
